The Fire Prance

Step by Step: The Fire Prance
(A dance for swabhands, arrangement: circular)

1. Light a large fire on shore, when the flames have died down rake the embers into a large circular formation.
2. Share a flagon with the swab next to ya and wipe away the dribble with the back of yer sleeve.
3. Now, pace around the fire making rhythmic hauling noises. Thrust a cutlass to the click-cracking of the embers.
4. Now all point at the first man in the circle (he is easy to spot as he is at the front of the circle).
5. The first man must walk directly across the glowing embers towards the back of the circle. During this the remaining swabs should use palm or banana leaves to scoop up some of the embers and hoist them into the air, hollering in celebration, ‘We’re not at sea, we have no need to break our backs!’ (for example) while the hot embers rain upon them.
6. Every swab who has walked across the fire no longer partakes in the hoisting of the embers. Now they should think about how much they miss the waves and spray of the seas.
7. Repeat for each swab in the circle.

mizzen

sifting through the creaks of wet wood
the creases of my face
in my safe hands.
an aspirin in the face of sundries
plundered and blood-sullied
to the warehouses of exotic lands.

the chorus of the foams fill my lungs:
‘and is this Henry Leech?’, they say
this spray-ridden mutiny
dutifully wrapped in a black mizzen mast’s
sail,
the last of the Trail’s four captains
casketed and seeped in kelp and gilt,
the keep of the seas
with shale and silt
to credit our valued dog.

Good Night (or A Pirate with A Broken Sword)

Defunct and quite
Just Sunked,
From almost two years of sunkissed never happeneds.
It took me that time
To try
And hide
My eyes.
To need
To stop
Breathing.
Now that I’m defunct and no longer needed
Superseded by something you didn’t need you said and
Read such reddened eyes I read.
I believed you (just like I always do).

How can I feel embarrassed?

And no you need no explanation.
I needn’t use their mild sedation unless my smile begins to smudge
I have no qualms;
I’m bound and gagged
Around the facts,
Another man will love you just as much as me.

Two Thoughts

Digital Piracy

I had no qualms present as I thieved Sunset Blvd. and The Maltese Falcon from under the dead-eyes of it's starving creators via a loose swarm of like-minded buccaneers. There was not an inch of conscience involved. My eyes continued their involuntary act of descending a steep slope of snow, with a barely controlled flourish. Either for the sheer thrill of the ride and/or to bypass tedious scree, I enjoyed the hell out of it.

I was a new modern man with his fingers on the keys not giving a damn or a penny to/for the third generation black-suiters who wanted my ill-earned hard cash for what is, undeniably, old Bogart. Of course I had a dog by the name which was put down for mauling toddlers, or so I assumed from the euphemism my mother used. Whatever happened to collective culture anyway, it is as guarded as a dictator's tomb?

Hysterical Paroxysm

On a related note there I was treating her for the nervous ailment that had troubled her all these dark months since her husband put to sea, and suddenly I found the equipment all covered in a tepid sort of semolina. 'Aha! by Jehova and all The Saints' I thought out loud, stowing the vibratode in it's hygienic red leather lined beech box, I've heard of this but never seen the like; 'too right' said the wife. Nowadays you can get them in the Argos catalogue.

- "Tyranno" 1918

Later Reference the Bones of a Cat.

Simón was sharply interrupted, he had long since been an admirer of the sea and he often sat in a similar spot to the one he was in now to confirm that. As a cat he didn’t feel obliged to do anything, he just marvelled at the ripples and eulogized that tide until he was sure the sea would’ve seen him, whatever the weather. Now, for example, was tempestuous, to say the least: the rain was driving and the wind riproared through his whiskers. Dusk might’ve been two shades away but it was hard to tell, as the darkness hadn’t left all day. After staring at the sea for so much Simón really had become familiar with it, he could never remember each lilt or twist and expect it to be there next time, (that was part of his love of the thing) but he would recognize an oddness.
And that’s how he was interrupted and exactly what he had done. Simón had spotted a glint, a small glint just glowing through the sea and the sea had never had one of those before. He watched a little longer, his eyes bleating in the rain. ‘What could possibly make a glint just glowing through the sea?’: a bonfire for the barnacles, the bright lights of a pirates plight or a vigil, perhaps. The wind convinced Simón not to investigate just now even though he could think of little else.
“Sleep and dream”, it moaned, “sleep and dream.”
The next day the storm hadn’t gone home and Simón hurried his breakfast to see if he could still find the glint. With a squint passed the rock that looked only a little like Ecuador he spied it, still gleaming ‘gainst the unusually darkened sky. The wind pushed him back and the sea rioted. No conditions for investigating. Simón had to quell his interest. For the next two days he observed the glint and the waters ran amok.
[Welling turned to necessity and a splash of desperation.] Simón found the third day had gotten the better of him so he edged down towards the shore, eyes focussed on the glint. The sea was still raging. He stood feet facing the tides. He had to know what was making that glint. What was needed was a closer look. Walking right to the border of the water he peered towards it - a gust blustered his coat – but he still couldn’t find the answer. Rolling up his trousers he waded a little way in to the sea, it’s cold love was just as unwelcoming. Closer. The water went passed his knees and skirted his middle yet telling what the glint was was still impossible. Chest. Neck. No answer. The waves slashed his face and fired his temper; he didn’t know how to turn back anymore, not until he had the answer. He lifted his feet from the kelp of the beds and swam a little towards the glint. Closer. Further. And far less safe, a step too far for spangle’s sake. The currents overthrew him, outnumbered but the glint was just a dozen strokes away he mayswell take the risk. Still no clearer image, he was nearly at its source. Just below the water it should’ve closed a hundred hearts. It wasn’t the gold or glory, he just had to know its cause.
Now peering for that answer the murk beneath his eager paddling paws, he paused. The glint grew brighter, larger, consuming the once murky sea beneath Simón. As he beheld what he’d been waiting for.
Now he knew what was making that glint.
It was the eye of a whale.
“Finally I know.” he gasped as he broke inside the belly of the answer.